


The History of a Cheating Heart

by the_constant_reader



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_constant_reader/pseuds/the_constant_reader
Summary: Post-Atlanta. You're on the road with Bill, both of you worn out, and him nearing breaking point. Struggling to walk the line between caring for a friend and conserving propriety, and with Bill's family troubles threatening to derail him entirely, how will you cope?***Fic on hiatus, but it will be updated at some point, I promise***
Relationships: Bill Tench/Nancy Tench, Bill Tench/Original Female Character(s), Bill Tench/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	1. A Mistake, then a Confession

You twisted the hot tap all the way off, giving it an extra quarter crank in full knowledge of the incessant leakiness of motel showerheads. Snagging your towel from the rack as you stepped out, you swiped over the foggy mirror to take in the full tiredness of your face. You hadn’t managed to fully remove your mascara, and it pooled under your eyes, taunting you. You rubbed it away with the same impatience you had afforded the mirror.

Once your hair had been brushed through and tied back, you stepped through into the relative dimness of your room to rifle through the jumble of your suitcase. You pulled on the first clean pair of underwear you found, stooping again to find your pyjamas. Then from behind came the sound of a door opening.

“Sorry, Y/N, but could you have a look at what you’ve written here? I can’t make it out,” said Bill’s voice.

Your first instinct was to turn around to face him in surprise. Glasses firmly on, his brow was creased with the effort of deciphering your handwriting. Coming to your senses, you clutched your towel to your bare chest.

“Bill! Jesus, knock next time!”

He looked up from the file in shock and stopped dead.

“Oh, fuck, sorry!”

He turned quickly and rushed back through the door connecting your rooms, almost slamming it in his haste. You sat hard on your bed, more than a little bemused. You knew that it wasn’t in Bill’s nature to barge into your room without knocking, ever the thoughtful one, but clearly the stresses of the day had affected him as fully as they had affected you. Though you had only seen him for a split second, his usually neat shirt was rumpled and half-open, hair similarly tousled.

You smiled a little despite your embarrassment. It was a wonder that this sort of thing hadn’t happened sooner, really, what with the countless hours you and Bill had spent in close quarters over the past month, one dingy motel room after the next.

* * *

On the other side of the wall stood Bill, heart thumping in his ears, neck flushed.

_You fucking idiot, why didn’t you knock?_

He tossed the file on the nightstand, rubbing a rough hand over his face. The image of you, half-naked, still damp from the shower, flashed behind his eyelids, and he groaned in embarrassment. He dreaded the thought of facing you, knowing full well that he had stamped out any semblance of professionalism left. Travelling with another agent, particularly a young woman, was fraught enough, and without Holden there to act as a sort of buffer, Bill knew that tension was inevitable.

It was late July, and the motel’s meagre cooling systems seemed to be packing up. Whether out of remorse over the incident or the stuffiness of the room, Bill felt a wave of heat wash over him, and he stripped out of his overshirt, sitting down on his bed with a sigh. He knew he ought to go over and apologise, clear the air, but he didn’t know if he had the wherewithal. He wanted a black room, a double whisky, and a long sleep.

* * *

Pyjamas and robe firmly on now, you knew you had to go over and talk to Bill. You had never been over-fond of equivocation, and you knew Bill well enough to know he was in the same position as you – more than a little embarrassed, envisioning the awkwardness of tomorrow’s drive.

You were about to cross to the door when you heard three quiet knocks from Bill’s side. You opened it, looking up at his contrite, weary face.

“Hi,” you said, unsure now.

“Look, Y/N, I’m sorry. It was stupid of me not to knock. Today was just – fuck, it was hell, and, y’know, with all the shit going on at home, I just didn’t think. I apologise.”

Against your better judgement, you took his hand in yours. It was warm and calloused, and you saw the tension in his shoulders dissipate.

“It’s fine, Bill, honestly. Bound to happen to one of us sooner or later, anyway.”

You saw a smirk dance at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You gently pulled your hand from his to rest in the pocket of your robe. Bill took a small step back, and you saw a thought flash across his face, though he didn’t speak.

“What is it, Bill?”

“Jesus, I don’t know if this’ll make things even more awkward, but do you want a drink? I think my head’ll explode if I read any more of this file.”

You let out a sigh, mindful of the stack of files in your own room. “Sure.”

You crossed the threshold and stood as Bill retrieved two glasses and one of the mini bar’s tiny bottles.

“Whisky okay?”

“Whisky’s great.”

Bill motioned to the room’s solitary chair and you sat, watching him portion out the scotch between the two glasses before handing one to you. You nodded in thanks. He sat down heavily on his bed and unfastened his watch, rubbing the marks it left on his wrist absentmindedly. He picked up his own glass and drained it in one. You smirked.

“That ugly, am I?”

Bill laughed. “No, no. Well, um, I mean…”

You chuckled at his fumbling. “Sorry, bad joke.” He was usually so composed, Bill. Even during that whole stretch of back and forth between Atlanta and home he had always managed to keep it together. But now… things seemed different. He had told you a little of his situation – Nancy leaving him, taking Brian – but you sensed that there was more to it than that. How long had it been since he’d simply _talked_ to another person?

Bill pushed himself up off the bed and walked to the fridge to get a second bottle. “Want a top-up?”

“No, I’m still going on this one, thanks. Look, um, I don’t want to pry, but are you alright?”

You saw his shoulders slump. He nudged the fridge door closed. He faced you, and you could see the sadness in his eyes as he drained the bottle into his glass.

“I don’t want to burden you with all my shit, Y/N.”

“I didn’t ask just to be polite. I’m worried about you, Bill. You’re not yourself.”

He sighed, sitting back down on the bed. “I’m not alright, Y/N, I’m really not. I managed to shove it all down during Atlanta, but I swear sometimes I feel like I’m going to explode.”

You sat, silent, unsure whether you should interject, maybe say something reassuring. Bill continued.

“You know that Nance left me, and that she took Brian with her. But I never told you why.” He stopped, taking a breath. “The body of a little boy was found in the basement of one of the houses Nancy was selling. At first, I was just brought in to help, but pretty soon we found out that Brian was connected to the kids that killed him. Brian wasn’t charged with anything, but we had to jump through all these hoops, with a social worker and a psychiatrist and whatnot. And, God…”

You could hear the little hitch in his voice. He took a sip of whisky.

“I should’ve been there for Nancy. For Brian. But all the mess in Atlanta was going on at the same time and Holden, Jesus, he can be so one-eyed… now she’s gone, and Bri’s gone, and what’s the fucking point? Sure, we stopped a murderer, but what’s the goddamn use of doing anything if I don’t have my family?”

Not allowing yourself space to second-guess, you walked over to him and sat, placing a hand on his forearm. He looked at you, and his voice softened.

“You don’t need to do this, Y/N. They’re my problems, not yours.”

“I know that, Bill. But you’re no use to anyone, least of all yourself, if you bottle all this up. I care about what we do, and I care about you. Even if you forget to knock sometimes.”

He exhaled through his nose, smiling wanly. “Sorry again. And thank you. I… care about you too.”

You moved, slowly, to lean into him and rest your head on his sturdy shoulder. He clasped your hand in his and squeezed tightly.


	2. Home Again

“You’re sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m fine, Bill. Thanks.”

The car door thunked shut, and you watched Bill’s purposeful stride as he headed into the gas station. You shifted a little against the hot vinyl seat, looking forward to getting home, to stripping out of your scratchy uniform and taking a cool shower. Looking forward to sleeping in your own goddamn bed. You cracked the window an inch more, willing even the faintest of breezes to find its way into the car.

You had been on the road with Bill for somewhere approaching a month, balancing road school with interviews, still trying to return to normality since Atlanta. It had, of course, taken its toll on him far more than you, but you sensed that the investigation down there marked a significant change for the BSU.

Bill emerged from the store, unwrapping an ice cream. It never failed to make you smile to see that big, stern man tuck into something so sweet, so childish. He settled himself into the driver’s seat and juggled his ice cream as he started the car, dropping the handbrake and putting it in gear.

“Looking forward to getting home, Y/N?”

“Oh God, yeah. How about you?” Guilt twinged as soon as you said it. You didn’t know how much contact Bill had had with Nancy since she left, yet you still saw in your mind’s eye an image of Bill in an oppressively empty house, forlorn. Lonely.

“Well, yes and no,” responded Bill with a sigh. “It’ll be good to take a breather, but at the same time, I don’t want to. I feel like a fucking shark sometimes, Y/N.”

“Have you… have you had a chance to talk with Nancy at all?”

“Yeah. Here and there. She and Brian are at her mom’s.” He took a brief pause to wind the window down and discard the popsicle stick. “I haven’t talked with her in person, though. Ran off on the next assignment as soon as I could. Like a fucking kid.”

“You did what you had to do.”

“No. I did something juvenile and pathetic. I ran away from my wife and son. The problem will still be there when I get back home. I just sidestepped it.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Bill was clearly under immense strain, and though the workaholic in you couldn’t fault him for throwing himself headlong into another assignment, you knew it would only serve to prolong the pain. For everyone.

You took a breath. “You’re right. I hope I’m not out of line here, but you made the wrong choice. That doesn’t mean you can’t go and fix things now that you’re home. Take some time off, go and talk to Nancy. Work something out.”

“I doubt I’ll ever be able to fix the damage I’ve caused.”

* * *

Bill swung the car smoothly into your driveway, sticking it into neutral and cutting the engine.

“Do you want help with your bags?”

“That’d be good, Bill. Thanks.”

Bill hoisted your suitcase from the trunk while you dealt with your briefcase and the box full of tapes. You ascended the steps to your door together, and you shifted the items around in your arms to locate your keys.

Bill placed your case down in the entryway then stood. You were about to ask him, more out of politeness than anything else, if he wanted to stay, have a drink, but the weariness in his eyes and in the set of his shoulders warned you off.

“I’d better get going,” he said.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Look, before I go, I ought to say thank you. This whole situation with Nancy has been really hard, and I can’t tell you how much good you’ve done me.”

“I’m always here if you need to talk, Bill. Not many people understand what we go through, we need to stick together.”

“Definitely.”

Bill clasped a warm hand around your upper arm and gave it a friendly squeeze.

“See you.”

You smiled. “Bye.”

You watched Bill leave, leaning against the doorjamb. You could smell the slight mustiness of your house, shut up for so many weeks. Once Bill’s car had pulled out of the drive you retreated inside and lugged your suitcase up to your bedroom. The mess of files in your briefcase and the box of tapes could wait until Monday.

Absentmindedly, you went around to open the windows up and let some air and light in. You knew, deep down, that your feelings towards Bill had moved beyond the platonic. Somewhere in the haze that was Atlanta, you realised that your boss was an unusually sensitive, empathetic, intelligent person. You loved how capable he was, how his hands could change a tyre as easily as they could comfort a frightened victim. You loved his gruffness, his sternness, his dry sense of humour. You appreciated how _normal_ he seemed next to the unwavering obsessiveness of Holden.

You also knew how deeply he loved Nancy and Brian; his moon forever caught in their orbit. Your crush felt girlish and inconsequential next to the hugeness of his life. Realising you had been gripping the windowsill beneath you this whole time, you shook yourself from your thoughts and went into the kitchen to fix yourself a drink.

Bill presented an impasse. You knew you couldn’t go on like this, moon-eyed and carrying your torch. Whether he figured it out himself or you let something slip, it would devastate everything – the work you were both so determined to do, his marriage, his relationship with his son.

He wasn’t stupid. He likely already knew and was just ignoring the possibilities entirely. The prospect of seeing him at work on Monday both comforted and terrified you.

You finished the last of your drink and reached for the bottle to pour another.

**Author's Note:**

> Story title borrowed from Damon Albarn. Everything else borrowed from David Fincher et al., or from my own imagination.


End file.
